A Bend in the Road
by Rogue Callista
Summary: Complete. A hobbit healer's life takes an unexpected turn when she tends to an ill Frodo Baggins, and gradually discovers the truth about his mysterious journey.
1. In Haste to a Sickbed

It never ceases to amaze me how a person's life can change dramatically in a very short time. I'm old and I've got a head full of gray hairs, but I can still remember the day the road I traveled took an unexpected turn. In fact, I measure my life from that day. For me, there is the time before I met Frodo Baggins. And then there is everything after that.  
  
Look at me, now I'm rambling on and on without even bothering to explain myself. How rude I am! You're a stranger, and I haven't even told you who I am. Well, my name is Lily Goldworthy. I have never been farther than the borders of Bree in all my years, but I have seen a great deal in the Shire for all that. For many years, I was the most famous healer in the Shire and parts around. There are many midwives and nurses among the hobbits, but my particular profession was rather unique.  
  
It all began after my parents died, my father from falling on a scythe and my mother of a spider's bite, and I was left alone in the world. I had some skill with herbs, and I established a small practice as a herb-doctor and nurse. I made most of my money from attending birth-beds, but I quickly taught myself more of medicine than simple hobbit midwifery. I did what few hobbits had dared to do—I read the books of Men, and the books of Elves that were translated into the Common Speech. I learned of the true art of medicine as practiced by men of Gondor, and of skill in setting bones and healing wounds.  
  
Well, it wasn't long before my fame spread across the Shire. I went from birth-beds to death-beds and everywhere in between. I was particularly known for my talent for easing the elderly and dying out of life as gently as possible. Because of my skill at soothing pain when all else failed, they called me the Gray Midwife. Some of the more ignorant spoke the name with fear, but I hardly minded. I continued to live by myself in my family's cottage on the edges of Hobbiton. My life could be exhausting and sometimes lonely, but I felt no lack until I met Frodo.  
  
I remember quite clearly the day that Farmer Cotton first rode up to my door. It was a dreadfully windy morning in March, not long after the Travellers had returned and those ruffians had been turned out of the Shire. I opened the door to find the ruddy-faced Farmer Cotton standing before me, holding the reins of his pony. "Miss Goldworthy?"  
  
I curtsied. "And a good morning to you, Master Cotton. Do you require my aid?"  
  
"Well, you might say that." The old farmer's face was tense with fear. "It's Master Frodo, miss, and a strange thing such as I've never seen in all my born days. If you'd get your bag, miss, and old Bess will carry us both."  
  
I ran to get my doctoring bag, and Farmer Cotton helped me up onto Bess. I rode behind him all the way to his farm, hanging on for dear life because the old hobbit urged the poor pony on at a fantastic speed. I usually preferred to walk to my cases, and now I remembered why.  
  
After what seemed like an endless ride of terror, although it could have been no more than ten minutes by the clock, we arrived at the Cotton farm. Mrs. Cotton must have heard Bill's hooves thumping down the road, for he met us at his gate. "Good, good," she cried, "you've brought the right hobbit for the job and no mistake." She smiled at me nervously as I reached down to take her hand. "I'm still remembering as how she fixed Tom's leg when he caught it under the wagon wheel, and made it good as new."  
  
"I hope we're not too late," Farmer Cotton replied, and helped me down from Bess's back. "If anything happens to Master Frodo, I'll never forgive myself!" He took my arm and walked me to the stoop of the farmhouse as Rosie Cotton held the door open for me.  
  
"Do you have any idea what's wrong with Mister Baggins?" I asked in a hushed voice as Mistress Cotton and Rose led me to the sickroom.  
  
"Not a clue," said Farmer Cotton, shaking his head. "Found him that way this morning when I woke up. Awful stuff! Must be something he picked up on his travels, but I wouldn't know. And Master Sam would be off somewhere, planting trees and what not! Well, I ought to let you see for yourself, miss."  
  
The old farmer opened the door of Frodo's room, and I stepped in softly. Frodo lay on the bed in a tangled mess of linen sheets. With his right hand, he absently fingered a sparkling white gem on a chain around his neck. His hair was damp with sweat, and his eyes were fever-bright, looking straight ahead but seeing nothing. I moved swiftly to the bedside and put a practiced hand to his forehead. "He's burning with fever something terrible," I murmured, half to myself. "As if a dreadful fire were consuming him from inside…"  
  
He still did not look at me, and his mouth formed words that could barely be heard. I leaned closer to hear him, for the speech of the delirious often revealed the terrible burden that the diseased mind bore. But to my surprise, the words Frodo spoke were in no language that I knew or had even heard before in my life. "Ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg durbalutuk…" he mumbled to himself, over and over. I had no idea what he was saying, but it was some sort of curse by the sound of it.  
  
I drew away with a shudder and reached into my bag for the right herbs. "He is ill, but not so ill that I cannot help him. Would you bring me some hot water, Mistress Cotton? I think I have something that will do the trick." All the Cottons rushed off, as glad to have something to do as I was to have them gone. They were dear people, but you can't imagine how distracting it is to have frightened relatives hovering about the patient.  
  
As I rummaged through my bag for the feverbane, I sang softly to myself. I was very startled to hear a clear voice ring out from the sickbed. "Who are you?"  
  
I looked over at the bed. Frodo was sitting up, looking directly at me, his eyes still filled with delirium. I rushed over and pushed him back down onto the bed again. "You must rest, Master Frodo. Lily is here and you will be well soon," I whispered soothingly.  
  
Now his brilliant blue eyes looked beyond me, at something no mortal should be able to see. He reached out and clasped my hands like a drowning man grabs at a rope. "Help me," he breathed, and fell back onto his pillow. "Help me."  
  
I murmured something comforting, but I was frightened. I had attended many a patient with the fever, but there was something dark, something wrong and…well, unearthly…about this sickness. Fortunately, he did not speak any more, and Mistress Cotton soon came back with the hot water. I mixed a concoction of feverbane and bird's-mint and fed it to him, and it seemed to work well enough. I stayed with him for the next few hours, sponging him off with cool water and feeding him more medicine when the delirium threatened to return.  
  
As it turned out, I spent that night and the next with the Cottons, for the good family feared their guest might again fall ill during the night. It was well worth it, for Farmer Cotton offered to double my usual fee. At first, I tried to refuse, but eventually settled for half over my usual price and a few good solid meals, courtesy of Mrs. Cotton. The more I tended my mysterious patient, the more he fascinated me. I had heard many tales of the other three Travellers, but local opinion was mostly silent on the subject of Frodo Baggins. From what little I had heard, he was as odd and bookish as Mister Bilbo had been, and had played no great part in the adventures his companions had had out in the world of Men.  
  
But there seemed to be far more to Frodo's story. I could find no wound on him that would cause such a fever, and he suffered from no cough or pox. And then there was the matter of the strange words he'd uttered. Something he had picked up on his travels, Farmer Cotton had said. I didn't doubt that the old hobbit was right, although not in the sense that he meant it. This was far more than the usual head cold or digestive upset one usually gets when traveling abroad. Frodo's soul seemed to be sick, as it were. However, I had no hope of ever discovering his true story until the morning I made ready to leave the Cotton farm.  
  
I had packed up my bags and was preparing to walk back to my cottage when Rose caught me by the arm. "Could you come back a while, Lily?" she asked shyly. "Master Frodo wants to speak to you. He's feeling ever so much better now."  
  
"Certainly, Rose." I turned and followed her back into the house, wondering what my patient could possibly have to say to me.  
  
Frodo certainly looked far better than he had the morning before. He was sitting up in bed and partaking of the hearty breakfast that Mrs. Cotton had brought in to him on a tray. "Good morning, Miss Goldworthy," he said, swallowing a bite of hotcake and smiling at me.  
  
I curtsied politely and smiled back. "Good morning, Mister Baggins. I must say, it's a great pleasure to see you looking so hale and healthy! I was afraid that Master Samwise would return and find you ill, and then I should really catch it!"  
  
Frodo laughed. "No, not from Sam. He is as gentle as a fieldmouse."  
  
"Except where you are concerned!"  
  
"That's right." He laughed heartily again. "I am sorry to have put you and my hosts to such trouble. No, don't be polite and say that it was no trouble. I know I should not have gotten well as quickly as I had without your help. I shall pay your fee at once, of course." He reached for a small leather bag lying on the bedside table.  
  
"No, no," I blurted, shaking my head, "Farmer Cotton's already paid me."  
  
Frodo put the bag back on the table rather forcefully. "He is too kind! Well, I must reimburse him one way or another, and I mean to. And as for you, Mistress Goldworthy, when I finish rebuilding Bag End, you are to drop in for tea any time you wish. Whenever you're in the neighborhood, you know…" He trailed off, looking down at his breakfast tray again.  
  
"That's very kind of you, Mister Baggins." I curtsied again and made to leave.  
  
He called out after me as I walked to the door. "Please, just call me Frodo."  
  
I turned back with a smile. "Then you must call me Lily." I shut the door gently behind me. 


	2. Tea at Bag End

Soon afterwards, Sam Gamgee came to my cottage to thank me in person, and he replanted my neglected flower garden for me shortly before he was married. I was a guest of honor at Rose and Sam's wedding in May, and Frodo and I sat next to each other at the banquet-table there. However, it was early August before I received the invitation Frodo had promised me. It came in the mail around the fifth, a handwritten note on a bit of thin paper that gave a cordial invitation to tea at Bag End on the sixth.  
  
August is the worst of months for midwives. A birthing-bed is never a very pretty or pleasant place to be, but it is even more unpleasant when the sun is glaring down relentlessly and there is scarcely a cloud in the sky. The morning of the sixth dawned hot and sticky, and I hoped fervrently that Betta Proudfoot would not deliver today. It would be her first, poor thing, and a first birth is usually hard and long. If her husband came for me in the morning, I would surely not make it to Bag End by four, and certainly not in any presentable condition. Fortunately, no sound of hooves was heard on the road that morning, and I spent the forenoon and the hours after lunch weeding the herb garden and grinding medicines for some of my regular patients.  
  
Around three, I stopped work to put on a fresh cotton dress in a becoming shade of sage green and a white linen apron. Bag End was one of the most famous homes in the Shire, and I wanted to look my best. At least, I tried to tell myself that I wanted to do honor to the house…and not impress my host. I washed my face and hands in cool water, and decided to fix my curly, black hair up a little more elegantly. Working a little soft beeswax through my hair so that it would lie flat, I redid the braids and crossed them atop my head. When I was finally satisfied with my appearance, I put a few strawberry tarts in a willow basket and set out on my way.  
  
The main road was always dusty at this time of year, so I took a shortcut through the woods. In the deep, shady dales, the grass still grew green, and it felt soft and cool beneath my feet. Even if I had not had been invited to tea, I probably would have walked through the woods anyway, just to enjoy the shade and the green leaves. My mother used to tease me, saying that I loved the woods so much, I must be an Elf. "Some wandering Elf left her pretty babe on my doorstep as a foundling," she would laugh as she combed bits of dead leaves out of my hair. Just thinking of my mother made my heart ache. I was only twenty-five years old, and even though I had been working like a grown hobbit for seven years, I still needed her guidance and wisdom sometimes.  
  
Finally, I came out of the woods near Bagshot Row and took the road the rest of the way to Bag End. The gate hung invitingly open, and seeing no one else around, I walked up the path and right up to the door. I lifted the brass knocker and knocked it against the door three times, firmly but politely. I was shocked to find that my heart was beating a bit faster and my palms were perspiring just the slightest bit. I hadn't realized how eager I had been to see my mysterious patient in private again.  
  
Frodo opened the door, and a smile lit his face when he saw who his visitor was. "Lily! I have been expecting you." He led me into his sitting-room and invited me to sit in a large, comfortable chair. "I am glad you could come. I was afraid that you might have, er…an unexpected visitor?"  
  
I smiled at his delicate manner of referring to my work. "No, it was a quiet morning for me, and I am glad of it, for it's terribly hot."  
  
"But the warm weather makes the wheat grow like mad, and I expect we will have an early harvest." He poured tea into the cup he had set at my place, and as I sipped, I noted the delicate maple-leaf pattern on the cup and saucer. It was fine ware, the like of which was rarely seen in the Shire. I was quite impressed.  
  
"It's been a very lovely year all round," I remarked. "You and your friends brought us good luck when you returned, Master Frodo."  
  
Frodo smiled, but then he glanced out the window and his look grew distant, as if he were traveling far from the Shire in his mind. "Good luck isn't quite all we brought back, I'm afraid."  
  
I tried to hold my tongue, but my curiousity got the better of me. "You mean…your illness, Master Frodo?"  
  
He nodded, the absent look still in his eyes. "When you attended me, that was the worst spell, but there have been other times. Not so bad, of course, but not pleasant, either."  
  
"Why didn't you call me?" I felt a sudden unexplainable sense of panic at his words. "You know I would have come as soon as I could."  
  
He turned back to me, smiled and patted my hand. "My good Lily, you are very talented, but I fear it is a sickness that you cannot wholly cure. Your herbs helped the fever and delirium when I was at Farmer Cotton's, but medicines can only go so far."  
  
I felt confused and worried. What had Frodo meant by that? I began to believe that it was as I suspected, that he was…soul-sick. A broken heart, maybe? Or some strange power working on him? I didn't know what to say. I wanted to inquire further, but I had the feeling that questioning him too closely would be very inappropriate. Besides, I felt somehow that one day, Frodo might tell me of his own accord. "You know that I will do what I can for you, Master Frodo."  
  
The absent look was suddenly gone from his eyes, and the familiar smile lit his face again. "Please, just plain Frodo will do fine. I have no need for titles in the Shire."  
  
"You've had titles…elsewhere?" I was torn between the need for politeness and the urge to find out more about Frodo's travels.  
  
He laughed. "I have had a few outside the Shire, yes. Some that I have been given by the King. Some that have been given to me by other dear friends."  
  
Dear friends! I was electrified. The King Himself! And yet people called Frodo a bookworm and a do-nothing. How ignorant some hobbits could be! "You must have been a great many places," I finished lamely, feeling that any remark would fall flat after such a revelation.  
  
"That I have, and that is part of the reason why I invited you here today." Frodo rose from his chair and walked over to the fireplace, taking a thick sheaf of papers from the mantel. "Can you write a fair hand?"  
  
"As fair as any in Hobbiton," I replied, rather puzzled. What could he mean by that?  
  
"Wonderful!" He handed me the sheaf of papers. "I am trying to write a book about my travels, and about the travels of my Uncle Bilbo. I have piles of notes and diaries ten times the size of this stack. I need someone to help me transcribe these and organize them into something like an orderly chronological fashion." I think he was aware of my confusion, for he glanced at me and then continued to speak.  
  
"I know you probably think it quite odd that I have asked you to help me with this. After all, stories are hardly your stock in trade. But the first time I met you at Farmer Cotton's…well, it occurred to me that you might be the one to do this. Because you are so different, you know, from many of the hobbits in this place." He smiled gently at me. "You and I have chosen a different road from the rest of our peers and we know it. I think you have the wisdom and the compassion to understand my story. And I won't have anyone helping me who can't understand."  
  
I stared at the sheaf of papers uncertainly. "I'm honored that you think I could help you in some small way, but I must confess that I still don't understand why you've chosen me. I mean, I'm not wise or great! I'm just a simple girl with a knack for curing the sick."  
  
"That's not what I think." Frodo sat in his chair and sipped at his tea, looking directly at me. "You see further and think more deeply. You don't pay heed to idle gossip. You will understand." As I reached for a biscuit, he took my hand to my utter surprise. "I will give you whatever you ask in return for your help. I just have a feeling that my book needs to be finished, and soon."  
  
I was still confused, but I couldn't pass up the opportunity to read Frodo's story…and I could hardly refuse him when he was looking at me so hopefully. "If I'm to help you, really help you," I found myself saying, "there is to be no talk of payment. Reading about your adventures will be payment enough."  
  
He released my hand and leaned back in his chair with a wry laugh. "You may feel differently once you see the condition of my notes! But it is a relief to hear you say you will do it, at least." He sighed and the absent look returned to his eyes. "It is a great relief."  
  
Suddenly, I remembered the willow basket, and I blushed with embarassment. "How silly of me! I have nearly forgotten!" I opened the lid of the basket and took out the plateful of strawberry tarts. "Would you care for a tart, Frodo?"  
  
"I would take one with pleasure, Lily." With that, he was back in the room again, and we spent the rest of the afternoon sharing tarts and tea like any other hobbits would do. There was no more talk of the book, and he walked me back to my cottage at dusk. When we reached the door of my humble home, I shook his hand. "It has been a most delightful afternoon, Frodo. I can't remember when I've enjoyed myself more," I said with utmost sincerity.  
  
"And the same goes for me." Frodo smiled at me suddenly. "You will remember to come down and start helping me when you have time?"  
  
The mention of the book surprised me. I had nearly forgotten about it, to be truthful, but I nodded. "As soon as I can." After we bade each other good evening, I stood at my door for a moment, watching him as he walked down the road, wondering just what kind of adventures he'd had. Only now, I was very, very glad that I would actually be able to find out instead of just speculating idly. 


	3. A Mysterious Ring

As September flew into the Shire on wings of red and gold, my busy days became even busier as harvest time approached. The harvest was unbelievably huge in this year of plenty, and every hobbit between seven and seventy who was anything short of seriously crippled was needed to help. I harvested on the farm of every family within five miles of my home, as well as on my own small acres. Between bringing in the sheaves and bringing new hobbits into the world, I hardly had time to call my soul my own.  
  
Soon, however, October came, bringing with it the first frost, and the frantic pace of harvest season slowed. One fine, brisk morning, I wrapped a thick shawl around my shoulders and made my way to Bag End to begin helping Frodo with his book.  
  
When I arrived at the generous house, Frodo himself opened the door with a glad smile which turned into a mock-stern frown. "You've certainly waited long enough to begin helping me, Miss Lily!" Even as he pretended to growl, there was no mistaking the excited gleam in his eyes.  
  
"I am sorry, Mister Frodo, truly I am, but you know how immense the harvest was this year!" I put on my best pleading face. "I have hardly had a moment to call my own."  
  
He laughed at me in a friendly, merry fashion. "Yes, I do understand your dilemma. Even I have had to help pick apples this year, and I have not done such a thing since I was ten summers old. This old hobbit body was not made for a task that involves scrambling up so many trees!" Showing me into the house, Frodo took my shawl and hung it on a hook next to the door. A fire burned merrily in the fireplace, and I was heartened to see that he had put the kettle on. Writing could be thirsty work, and nothing cured a thirst in this weather quite like hearty hobbit tea.  
  
"Come, Lily, I'd like to show you my study." Frodo led me down the hall and into a spacious, well-furnished room piled high with books. He took one notebook down from a shelf and handed it to me. "This is one of the journals King Elessar kept, back when we of the Fellowship had just left Rivendell, and we still called him Strider betimes." His eyes took on that old distant look, and it seemed to take him a great deal of effort to force them back to reality. "It is a good account, but roughly written. I would be much obliged if you would copy it out again for me, and refine the grammar and spelling where you can. We were on the road, after all, and it was so hard even to scribble out those few notes…" His voice trailed off uncertainly, but he soon resumed.  
  
"You may work in here at the desk, for the light is good, and I shall do my part at the kitchen table. My pens and ink are at hand, and if you need anything you cannot find in the desk, you have only to ask me." He smiled and bowed, leaving me staring at his retreating back and at the journal in my hands. I could hardly believe that I was actually handling something that had been written by the King, and not just any king, but the Great King of prophecy, the one we hobbits had always hoped for. How strange that Frodo had been a personal friend of King Elessar's, and yet the Shire scorned him for an insignificant do-nothing!  
  
Being a practical hobbit for the most part, I soon recovered from my surprise and began the work of copying the journals. It was not hard, but Frodo's tale was much deeper and more momentous than I had imagined. The journal did not quite begin at the beginning, which was confusing for me. The King sometimes mentioned a Ring in his writings, and the word was always capitalized and given a sinister tone. I made a mental note to ask Frodo about it when we took our noon meal.  
  
I tried not to put too many fancy touches on my copy, for I knew Frodo would want to compile the story himself later on. However, I did take the liberty of "refining" the writing in the journal, so to speak. For example, the King might have an entry like this written:  
  
"Tried to make it through the pass of Caradhras today. Snow fell heavily, and we were hindered by the storm. Boromir and I tried to push a way through and Legolas tried to scout another route, but no success. We returned to the foot of the mountain and held a council. Voted to attempt the way through Moria. I fear for the Fellowship in the blackness of that land."  
  
And I would write something like, "On the third of January, the Fellowship attempted the pass of Caradhras. The cruel mountain set its face against us travelers; snow fell in great torrents, and the storm proved an insurmountable obstacle. Boromir and I tried to use our strength to plow a path through the great white drifts and the light-footed Legolas ran over the snow to try to scout a less dangerous path. But the pass of Caradhras was a stumbling block that neither the strength of Men or the nimbleness of Elves could conquer. In defeat, we returned to the foot of the mountain and held a council there. The Fellowship elected to attempt to pass through the gates of Moria. I fear greatly for our fellowship in the blackness of that land."  
  
When noontime came and I showed Frodo what I had done, he was elated. "That is excellent!" he cried as he finished reading the journal excerpt I had edited. "I hardly expected you to do so well. If you can keep going in that fashion, it will be perfect!"  
  
I blushed deeply. "Really, Frodo, you can't mean that. I am no writer. I just put in the words that I thought best, that's all."  
  
Frodo laughed and patted my shoulder. "And what else would you call that but true writing? Come and have some lunch. Rose has made some very nice meat pies."  
  
We broke our noon bread with Rose and Sam, and a merry meal it was. Sam and Rose and I talked on and on of the doings of all the folk in Hobbiton and the Shire. Frodo didn't seem to have much to say about local gossip, but he did seem to enjoy listening to us talk. Several times during lulls in the conversation, I made to ask him about the Ring, but something stopped me. Somehow I didn't want to talk about it before Rose and Sam. They were very good and dear, but I had a feeling only Frodo would be able to tell me the whole story of the Ring.  
  
Finally, Rose cleared the table and Sam went reluctantly back to the garden. I was left alone with Frodo, and I turned to him shyly. "Mr. Frodo," I said in a low voice, "I have been meaning to ask you…what is this Ring that the journals speak of? I can't make head or tail of it." He did not respond, and at first I thought that I had offended him. "I'm sorry that I'm such an ignorant country girl, but surely you could explain to me, just a little…"  
  
Frodo smiled and shook his head, the old absent look in his eyes. "You are not ignorant, Lily, and there's no reason you should know anything of the Ring. It was," he hesitated uncertainly, "the reason behind my whole quest. The reason I left the Shire." He fell silent again, and I feared once more that I had given offense. However, I felt a need to know about this mysterious object.  
  
"What was it, Frodo? Obviously not some ordinary bauble, for nothing so simple could have..."  
  
Suddenly, Frodo jumped to his feet and flung his chair aside. "Don't ask about it any more!" he cried, but his voice held a tone of frightened desperation and not anger. "Please, Lily, if you value the health of my mind, you will not ask about that dreadful thing!"  
  
I was on the verge of tears. Like the clumsy backwoods hobbit I was, I'd gone and put my foot in it. Not only had I offended Frodo, I might have caused his mysterious malady to return. "I'm sorry," I said in a choked voice, trying to keep the sobs out of my voice as I rose from my chair. "I'm sorry if I hurt you…please don't be angry…"  
  
Frodo's face softened suddenly, and he was his old self again. "I am not angry, Lily," he said gently. "Far from it." He moved toward me as I stood stiffly in the middle of the room and took my hands. "Dear heart…my friend, I could not be angry with you. I have trusted you with my story, and you have a right to know. But give me time! I am not yet strong enough to tell you all of what happened on my travels." His face contorted with pain. "And I would not burden you with my own anguish."  
  
Impulsively, I embraced him, and he clung to me as I stroked his head tenderly. "There, Mr. Frodo! Don't tell if it hurts, I'm just a silly girl and I'll do without hearing the story…" I was suddenly aware of his racing pulse next to mine, and I blushed as I abruptly let go. "Well, if I haven't done it again! I've presumed too much, and you must scold me for a bold and forward girl."  
  
Frodo squeezed my hands warmly. "No, it's all right. I needed that." His blue eyes were somehow very sad and lonely at the moment. "It's good to be with someone who doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass or sick with some contagious disease."  
  
I blushed even more deeply. "I, er, I think I'll go copy the rest of that journal. That is, if you don't mind, Frodo."  
  
He smiled at me, an expression that was somehow wise and amused at the same time. "Well, only if you must, Lily." I mumbled something polite and scurried off to his study, leaving him standing there in the middle of the kitchen.  
  
The next few months passed in similar fashion. I continued to help Frodo with his book, and the two of us became fast friends. Soon, I was up at Bag End every moment I could spare from my practice, and the folk of Hobbiton soon knew where to look for me when I was not at home. Tongues wagged in the Shire about Frodo and me, but I paid no heed to idle gossip. Folk were so ignorant—how could they think that a simple girl such as me could raise her eyes to someone like Frodo? But of course, they were blind to all but outward appearances, oblivious to the fact that he had gained a wisdom on his journeys that was beyond their comprehension.  
  
As for myself, I tried not to think about Frodo the way the gossipers thought I did. There was nothing of romance in our talks and walks, and there probably never would be. Hobbit courtship is a highly dramatic and sometimes oversentimental process, and I could hardly picture Frodo singing love songs outside my window by night, or bringing me a dozen baskets of flowers on Midsummer Day. Sometimes, though, when I lay awake at night and watched the wintry moon gleam in my window…I did allow myself just the tiniest thought of what life might be like if Frodo and I were married.  
  
That tiny seed of a thought would bloom into gardens of dreams as I secretly imagined myself the mistress of Bag End, with a dozen hobbit children clinging to my skirts. My imaginings went far deeper than that, though. I would finally have someone to share my life with, someone who would be part of my very soul. Maybe, just maybe, I could help Frodo be happy and whole once more. With that thought, however, the dream castles always came tumbling down. Who was I that I could give him back the happiness he had lost? I would cry quietly as I went to sleep, believing that I could never really do anything to help Frodo…believing he would never love me the way I loved him. 


	4. Lost in the Mist

The seasons began to pass more swiftly, and soon winter was waning and spring was in the air. February's wind already carried a hint of warm air, and daffodils and crocuses were poking their brightly hued heads through the melting snowdrifts. It looked to be a long, fair spring, and I was glad of it, for the chill of winter always saddened me. However, I had more reasons than one to anticipate the coming of spring that year. Rose was with child, and already Sam strutted around Hobbiton and Bywater beaming like a proud father. I told her in February that her baby was due in another month or so, and she smiled excitedly at me.  
  
"So soon? You really think so, Lily? I've always wanted to have a spring baby."  
  
I nodded at her as I placed a hand on her blossoming belly. "Quite soon, yes, and I promise I'll be here to help with the birth. I wouldn't miss it if the queen herself knocked on my door for help!"  
  
Frodo's excitement about the coming babe was evident as well, and sometimes he carried on as if he and not Sam was going to be a father. Other times, however, he still seemed lost in a dark mist from which he could not escape. I worried inordinately about him, but I tried to reassure myself that he was fine.  
  
One day early in March, however, I knocked on his door and there was no answer. After three knocks, I became frightened and let myself in. "Mr. Frodo?" My only response was a muffled groan. Panicked, I hurried to Frodo's bedroom to find him lying very still on the bed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling.  
  
"Are you all right?" I asked frantically. "Please say something, Frodo…"  
  
Slowly, slowly, he turned his head towards me and gazed at me with unseeing eyes. "I'm fine, Lily," he sighed with great effort. "Just…please…go away."  
  
"Go away?" Those words cut deeply, but I knew he was not in his right mind. "Just when you need my help most? I hardly think so."  
  
He turned away from me, flinging a hand over his eyes to shield them from the morning light. "Lily, when are you going to realize that you cannot do anything to help me, that this is an illness you can't cure?"  
  
I would have been furious if his tone had not been so weak and weary. "I'll never realize it," I said tearfully, with great determination. "I would never leave you alone in such a state. If you will not let me do anything else, I will sit next to you until the shadow has passed."  
  
Frodo did not turn around, and I pulled a chair beside the bed and sat, simply watching him for hours. At first, I wept because of his harshness and the malady that made him another hobbit entirely. Then the tears subsided, and I sat silently, focused on nothing but his gentle breathing. At times, I couldn't be sure if he were awake or asleep.  
  
Finally, he turned back towards me, and his eyes were sane and sad once more. "I am sorry, Lily," he said with difficulty, but in his own voice. "I did not mean to speak so sharply to you."  
  
I shook my head, angrily wiping tears from my eyes. "Don't apologize. It was the sickness speaking. Besides, I suppose you're right about me—I am a busybody," I choked.  
  
Frodo smiled at me, and I don't think I've ever seen a smile so sweet and yet so full of profound sadness. "Lily, Lily, don't call yourself such names! I wouldn't let you." He reached for my hand as trustingly as a child, and I instinctively placed my hand in his. "You have stood by me and tried to help me, and I have treated you shabbily. You are so dear to me," he sighed, "and yet I must leave you, as I must leave the rest of the Shire I once loved."  
  
My alarm returned. "What do you mean, leave? Not another journey, Mr. Frodo?"  
  
He looked at me, eyes full of some secret knowledge. "Yes, but of another sort, Lily. I don't know yet what I'm going to do…but I won't leave without saying goodbye."  
  
I still did not know what to make of Frodo's talk of leaving the Shire, but I felt strangely reassured by those last few words.  
  
The morning of the twenty-fifth of March dawned bright and clear, pink and orange clouds ribboning the sky as the sun rose over the hills. A panicked and breathless Sam brought not news of Frodo's sickness, but happier tidings. The two of us flew over the roads on Bill to Bag End, where Rose lay in childbirth.  
  
I smiled as I opened the door to Rose and Sam's room and saw her lying in bed, surrounded by frantic neighbor women. "Clear out, you," I said cheerfully, "or go boil me some water. Lily Goldworthy is here and there is no need of other hands to tend this babe." I moved quickly to Rose's side and lay a hand on her damp forehead, smiling down at her. "How are you feeling, dear?"  
  
Rose managed a feeble smile and clasped my hand. "Fine, although the pains grow worse—Ouch!" She bit her lip hastily, trying to conceal her distress.  
  
I nodded. "That's perfectly normal, and you called me just in time. Oh, what a glorious day this will be!"  
  
At any rate, I'll spare you the details of the birth that would only interest another midwife. I shall simply say that Rose and I fought the good fight and leave it at that. The sun was sinking in the west and the first stars were peeping through when Rose pushed for the last time and her baby popped into my waiting hands. The infant was sticky and red, and its face was contorted in a wail, but to me, she seemed to be the loveliest hobbit-babe I had ever seen in all my years. "A maidchild!" I cried joyfully. "And with golden hair like an Elf to boot! Sam Gamgee, come and take a look at your daughter!"  
  
Poor Sam had tried to stay by Rose's side, but he had fainted and had to be borne out by the neighbor women. Now he opened the door and peeped in timidly. When he glimpsed me washing his little daughter, however, he rushed right in. "Oh, and she's a lovely thing!" he exclaimed as I wrapped her in soft white blankets and placed her in his arms. "Looks just like her mother, praise be."  
  
"Bring her over here, you selfish brute!" cried Rose weakly but playfully. "I've had all the work in birthing her, and I shan't have you dropping her, you clumsy gardener!"  
  
Sam laid his daughter gently in her mother's arms, then gave Rose a resounding smack on the lips. "You crazy woman! Think you that I'd drop my own daughter, and her not even an hour old?"  
  
"I would believe it," Rose murmured laughingly, and the two of them kissed warmly once more. I slipped out of the room quietly, not wanting to intrude on the first precious moments of the new family.  
  
To my surprise, Frodo met me just outside the door, his face as excited as a boy's at an especially lavish birthday party. "Man-child or maidchild?" he whispered, and beckoned me toward the sitting room.  
  
"Maidchild," I sighed as I flopped ungracefully into a comfortable chair. "And a fairer one I've never seen. Hair like spun gold, could be a little elfling."  
  
"You don't lie?" Frodo's eyes betrayed his joy. "A maidchild! Imagine! A pretty little girl's the very thing to brighten up this old hobbit-hole. And I shall be an uncle of sorts," he said smilingly, "and spoil the little beauty to death."  
  
I giggled in spite of my exhaustion. "I'm sure you will, seeing as how you've carried on about her for months before she was even born!" I teased Frodo.  
  
Frodo laughed heartily right along with me, not resenting my gentle jibe on this day of days. "Ah, Lily, we owe you much for helping this little lass into the world." A faintly jingling leather pouch was in his hand, and he was undoing the thongs that held it shut. "Name your fee, and don't even think of giving us a discount!"  
  
I shook my head vehemently. "Nay, Frodo, if friends cannot help one another, this world is all for naught. I will not take a single copper penny from you or from Sam, and you may tell him that too."  
  
Frodo frowned slightly at me. "My, but you're a stubborn one! You've worked all the day, and you won't take a coin of the smallest magnitude. Certainly there must be something in my house you hold dear, something you desire."  
  
I suppressed a sudden stirring thought and shook my head again. "No, Frodo, I won't take a penny of payment or anything that belongs to you. There is only one thing in your house that is of any significance to me, and that is the friendship I share with you."  
  
"You really mean that?" Frodo leaned close to me, and I noticed as if for the first time that his eyes were a startling shade of blue. They seemed to hold all the colors of faraway seas within them. I nodded slowly and silently, suddenly overcome with emotion.  
  
Our eyes locked for a long moment until Frodo sighed heavily and moved to the window, gazing out at the falling dark. "I wish there was some way of telling you in words how deeply you have touched me," he began, then fell silent.  
  
"There's no need," I whispered, and my words seemed to fill the room. Oh, if only I could tell him too, tell him about the secret things I held in my heart! Somehow, though, speech was unnecessary. In the silence between us, we held quiet communion, my soul feeling all the pain of his tortured one.  
  
Unwillingly, I broke the silence and rose from my chair. "It's getting late. I'd better be going home, Frodo." Somehow, I couldn't move to the door until he spoke. Being there in the darkened room with him was like being in a strange place between sleeping and waking. I suddenly knew what it felt like to walk in that gray mist alongside Frodo.  
  
He turned to face me, and his eyes caught the moonlight in a most startling way. "I suppose so, Lily." For a moment, he stood there as if fixed to the spot, as if caught in the split second between thought and action. Then, wordlessly, he crossed the room and wrapped me in a fervent embrace.  
  
I gasped, shocked at first by the pressure of his arms, then I relaxed, resting my head on his shoulder. Both of us seemed to be held there by some force we couldn't quite name. All I knew was that there was comfort in this place, and I never wanted to leave.  
  
Just as the warmth of him was lulling me into an odd dream state, I was startled to feel Frodo pressing his lips to mine, gently at first, then urgently and almost desperately. Without even thinking about it, I returned the kiss, matching his urgency with mine as my pent-up emotions came rushing out. I could feel my world begin to blur. I no longer knew where I ended and he began. We were one being, in complete harmony with each other.  
  
A note of discord entered the harmony as I heard the voice of Sam in the distance, and Frodo and I broke off the kiss almost simultaneously. He looked at me wordlessly, love, grief, and pain oddly mingled in his expression. Unwillingly, we moved toward the door, and as Frodo opened it for me, I fled into the crisp, star-filled night. 


	5. Unveiled

As I lay in bed the next morning, the sun streaming through my curtains, a thousand thoughts flew through my head. What was going to happen now? Would Frodo and I go on pretending that nothing had ever happened, pretending to be no more than good friends? Or would he acknowledge the kiss…but as a mistake? Oh, things were going to be awful!  
  
I rolled over and groaned, not wanting to get out of bed. I knew I had to make the obligatory call at Bag End to check up on Rose and Sam's daughter, but I didn't want to look Frodo in the face, or even give him so much as a good-morning. Reluctantly, I rose, washed and dressed, figuring I could at least call on my other patients. Before I could decide exactly what to do, there was a soft knock at my door. To my surprise and abject horror, Frodo was standing there, a slight grin on his face.  
  
I blushed beet-red to my very toes in an instant. "Good morning, Frodo, " I stammered, not sure what else to say.  
  
"Can I come in?" he said shyly, and I beckoned him in wordlessly. He looked about my humble abode with great interest, taking special note of the herbs hanging on the kitchen walls and the great books of medicine on my shelves. "I've never been to your house, Lily. You have a pretty home."  
  
I looked at him then, and my expression must have been incredibly pained, for the corners of his mouth turned down in response. "Lily, are you all right?"  
  
"Fine," I stammered, acutely aware that I was bungling the whole situation. "I just thought…what happened last night…might have been a mistake?"  
  
Frodo smiled with some effort. "Not a mistake. I honestly care about you. And I stopped thinking of you as just a friend a long time ago, if you must know." To my utter surprise, a flush crossed his cheeks. "I love you…but I can't stay with you. I can't be with you the way Sam can be with Rose, the way you deserve."  
  
"Why?" The connection between my brain and my mouth seemed to have stopped working. I decided not to worry about it. "If you care about me the way you say you do…and I can't doubt it after what happened last night…then why…?" I trailed off, uncertain of the question I wanted to ask. Then I knew what I had to do. I knew in my heart's core why he couldn't stay…but I needed to hear it from him. I took his hand, gazed directly into those deep blue eyes, and said:  
  
"Frodo, tell me about the Ring. Tell me."  
  
We sat in my kitchen for hours, but I was unaware of the passage of time as Frodo finally told me the whole story of his journey, about the burden he had borne silently for so long. I traveled with him across the mountains, down Anduin to the dark lands of Mordor, even to the Cracks of Doom. When it was too hard for him to speak, I held him in silence until he found his voice again. We cried together, and I could feel the pall lifting from his soul as he poured out the story of the Ring.  
  
Finally, we moved from the chairs to the rug and I held him close to my heart and he finished it. "Now it is gone," he sighed, "but I cannot be the same as I once was, Lily. It has forever changed me and put a mark of strangeness on me. I don't belong here any more," the tears began to roll down his cheeks again, "and I wish that I did because I want to stay with you. I want to stay more than I've wanted anything in my life, but not even you can give me the peace I long to find."  
  
"I understand," I murmured, stroking his curly head gently. "I understand, and I am not angry with you. When you are ready to leave, we will go together as far as the borders of the Shire."  
  
He turned to look up at me, a relieved expression in his eyes. "You can't know how grateful I am for you, how happy I am that you understand."  
  
"Where will you go, Frodo? I have to know at least that much." I didn't think I would be able to stand it if he left the Shire and I had no idea where he was going.  
  
He sighed and shook his head. "Not anywhere that I can return from. I will sail from the Grey Havens to Elvenhome in the West. The Elves have offered me a sanctuary there, and it's the only place that can possibly heal my soul." He took my hands in his, leaning his head against my shoulder. "I wish things could be different, Lily, if only for your sake…"  
  
Tenderly, I laid a kiss on his forehead. "I love you and I want you to be at peace. Even if you sail beyond the farthest sea, my heart is yours."  
  
He looked up at me, every thought visible on his face. "Do you want to know something, Lily? I have loved you ever since that day at Farmer Cotton's when I was so sick, and you came and made me well. You have tried to heal me in every way that a person can be healed, and I love you for it."  
  
He reached up to kiss me on the lips, and I can hardly describe how I felt…my heart filled with pain and yet bursting with joy at the same time. It was bittersweet, and yet I would not have traded that moment, or the night that followed, for fifty happy years with another hobbit. 


	6. Heartache

After that day, I could no longer deny my feelings, but I didn't have to. I helped Frodo with his book whenever I could, and we spent a great deal of time together that spring and summer. By some unspoken agreement, we carried on just as if Frodo was going to remain in the Shire, and I made an effort not to refer to the journey he must soon take. That summer was without a doubt the happiest of my life. I could have written another whole book filled with all my sweet memories of that season. I had a bustling practice, a good harvest, friends around me, and someone who loved me just as I loved him. Somehow, though, I couldn't shake the sadness that crept into my thoughts whenever I thought about Frodo's departure.  
  
Soon, it was September once more, and I smiled sadly to myself as I turned the page of my little daybook. Although summer's sunshine and heat still lingered, fall was here, and somehow I knew it was nearly time for Frodo to go to the Grey Havens. What a child I had been all the summer, thinking I could stop Frodo from leaving just by not talking about it! As I made notes in my herbal, a tear spilled from my eye and blotted the ink. I wiped my eyes furiously, but the tears would not cease. I gave up on the herbal, leaned back in my chair, and gave myself over to the wave of grief rushing over me.  
  
Oh, it wasn't fair! I had finally found someone whom I could share my life with, someone like me, someone to love. And instead of enjoying a lifetime of happiness with him, I had to remain behind while he journeyed to some unimaginably far shore. I could feel Fate's cold, inorexable hands closing around my throat, and I felt that it was strangling me to death. By the time Frodo arrived at my house for tea, I had soaked three dishtowels with my uncontrollable weeping.  
  
"Lily, what's the matter?" His gentle voice, so full of concern and fear, made the tears fall faster. He should have scolded me for crying over nothing, but his only thought was of what was troubling me.  
  
"Oh, nothing, nothing," I muttered, trying to brush him away. "I'm just being a goose over nothing. Let me get your tea." I stood up to go to the kitchen, but Frodo grabbed my hand.  
  
"Lily, I know you far too well to believe that you would cry your lovely eyes red over nothing." A sad smile crossed the lips I had kissed so many times that summer. "I bet I can guess what's bothering you. It is the first day of September and fall is coming. You know I must leave you soon…"  
  
I nodded, choking back a cry. "I'm sorry, I thought I could be brave…but it just came down on me like a boulder today."  
  
He gathered me into his arms then, and I buried my head against his shoulder. My heart ached to think that soon, I would never know this comfort again. "My beautiful Lily, you are brave indeed, but even the bravest of souls must cry at times." He looked into my eyes, winding a lock of my hair in his fingers. "I feel both glad and grieved at finding you like this. Glad at knowing that you care for me so much…grieved that I have caused you so much pain."  
  
I kissed his cheek impulsively. "Frodo, I do understand, and this isn't your fault. I know it couldn't be any other way…but oh, how I wish I could go with you!"  
  
Frodo smiled. "Lily, the Shire is your home. I know you, and you wouldn't be happy anywhere else, even with me."  
  
"Anywhere you are is my home!" I cried out in anguish. "I love you so much…"  
  
He stroked my head gently, and the touch of his slender fingers in my hair was indescribably soothing. "I love you, Lily…but the Shire is no longer my home. My restless heart can find no rest here, not even in you. Not after what I've been through." I felt him shudder at the memory and pressed closer to him. "You've been a good helper. My book's nearly finished."  
  
Even through the haze of my grief, I felt a surge of pride when Frodo spoke of the book. "Only the last few chapters are incomplete." I looked shyly up at him. "You have only to write 'And they lived happily ever after'."  
  
"Perhaps I will leave the book where it is. I've a feeling that I should let Sam and you write the last few pages, dear heart. I wonder if it will become a great tale in after years?"  
  
I smiled in spite of myself. "And how could it not be? Hobbit children will clamor to hear the tale of the brave Frodo and trusty Samwise and the dread Ring. 'Tis fearsome in parts, true, but it has a good ending, and the best hero I've ever known." I ruffled his curls affectionately at that.  
  
He looked down at me with tenderness in his eyes. "Do you suppose the girl hobbits will say, 'But didn't he have a lady-love? Someone to come home to? Doesn't seem the tale is quite finished without a lady for Master Frodo.'"  
  
I grinned. "The boys will say, 'Who wants that love rubbish anyway? Not we!'"  
  
Frodo kissed my forehead. "I have an idea for that. A bit of a postscript, if you will. Oh, Lily, I do love you!" Basking in the glow of his love, I could almost forget my pain. 


	7. Season of Goodbye

The twenty-first of September dawned bright and clear, but I was in no condition that morning to take notice of the weather. I rose early, remembering all too well that this was the day Frodo had told me he would leave the Shire and go to the Grey Havens. "Will you go there with me, Lily, and say goodbye?" he had asked.

I shook my head. "Outside of the Shire is no place for a hobbit to be. I'm no traveler like yourself and besides," I faltered, "I am afraid I will not be able to resist casting myself into the sea once you have left my sight."

Frodo took me in his arms, and we were silent for a long moment until he spoke again. "Then ride with me to the edge of the Shire. We can say a proper goodbye there." I had nodded in agreement. How long ago this day had seemed when we had talked about it then! And now I could no longer turn my back on it. Dawn was staring me in the face. I felt no pain, only grief as hard and grey as a stone in my heart. Wrapping my shawl around my shoulders, I closed the door behind me and waited on my doorstep for Frodo.

All too soon, I heard the sound of hoofbeats. Frodo and Sam were coming up the road, Frodo on his pony and Sam on Bill. Sam was silent, and bore a heartbroken look in his eyes, but Frodo…it's hard for me to tell you what he looked like. So quiet and pale, like when he was sick, and sad to leave, of course…but also, strangely relieved. He saw me waiting and smiled, that wonderful sad smile I would never see again after that day. "Have you been waiting long, Lily? Come, Strider will bear you and me both."

With heavy heart, I walked out to the road, and Frodo lifted me up to ride before him on Strider. None of us spoke much on our way--each one was lost in his own thoughts, and yet all seemed to share in a strange communion. I could feel Frodo's arms around me and the warmth of his body. It was hard for me to believe I would never touch him again in life. To me it seemed as if he would always be with me, and maybe he still is, in a way. I wanted to cry, but I could not. Why weep? Frodo would have his peace. The chill of darkness would lift from his spirit at last. Any tears I shed would be for myself, left alone and childless.

The road ended, as all roads must, and our party reached the hedge which marked the borders of the Shire. I felt Frodo's hands going about my waist again, and I unwillingly climbed off the pony. I glanced at Sam, and my sorrow must have been written on my face, for he turned his back to us as Frodo dismounted. I shall always be grateful to him for that, for the small kindness he showed me in allowing me and Frodo a goodbye that would be ours alone.

Frodo took my hands in his and looked into my eyes. "Lily, you are so brave. No tears for the one who is going so far away?"

Tears did sting my eyes at the gently teasing tone of his voice, but I forced them back fiercely. "None for you, Frodo." I forced a smile. "You will be happy in those far lands. You will have no need of my simple tonics to heal the wounds of your spirit. Why should I weep? You will be happy…"

"You, I think, will not be." He had such a gift for seeing my true meaning. How I loved him for knowing those things no one else did! "You think that I abandon you, that I am leaving you forlorn, without even a child of mine to give you comfort. How wrong you are, beloved. I am leaving a part of myself with you. The part of me that could have made a happy life here in the Shire, the part of me that could have stayed with you forever. My love will always be with you, Lily."

The wisdom he had earned through so many trials comforted me as he continued to speak. "I don't know much of these matters, but I think that when we die, we are freed from the confines of this world. If it is at all possible for me, I will meet you there some day, beyond the stars."

"That gives me comfort, Frodo. How could it be otherwise? One day, we will be together there, beyond the circles of Middle-Earth. I know it. What better gift could be given to a great hero? I love you."

"I will always carry your love with me, and do not forget mine." He kissed me then, the last kiss we would ever have. I wanted to make it last forever, but I could only cling feebly to him as he forced himself to go. I watched him mount Strider, watched him as if I were one of the Valar looking down upon mortals. Finally, as the two riders disappeared from sight, I resolutely turned my back and set out on the long road back to my lonely house.


	8. Last Words

A week passed, and I was busy at my mortar and pestle once again when I heard a knocking at my door. I went to answer it, and there stood Sam, as faithful and kind as always. I hugged him heartily, to his surprise, although he regained his composure enough to return my embrace. "Dear Sam! Please come in. How was your journey back?"

Sam shook his head and sighed as he seated himself at my kitchen table. "Lonesome, even with Merry and Pippin to drive away the quiet. We all miss him, Lily, and that's a fact."

I nodded, brushing away a silent tear as I turned to my teakettle. "I think few feel his absence as you do, Sam."

He gently patted my hand as I placed a teacup in front of him. "Now, Lily, I know you're hurting too, though you try to be brave and bear me up." He smiled into my face and handed me a lovely book, bound in red leather covers. "This is what I came here to show you."

I sat down opposite him and stared at the book. "What is this, Sam?"

He laughed. "Don't you know? The book you and Frodo worked so hard on. It's near finished. I've only to tell the tale of going to the Havens. But I thought you might like to look at the very last page."

Puzzled, I turned the parchment leaves until I came to the final page. There, in Frodo's unmistakable hand, was an inscription and several lines of verse. I will try to reproduce it here for you as best I can_:_

iFor Lily

Who gave me comfort many days in the Shire—

That she may not be forgotten by those who read our book.

F.B.

The road rolls down to the sounding sea

On her rocky bosom she carries me

A seeker bound for the Utmost West

Only there can I find true rest

The Elven-lands I go to find

Though I leave my only love behind

Peace I'll have in the Golden Lands

But I leave my heart in her fair hands

Shining Earendil lights my way

'Cross ocean paths where fishes play

But amid the splendor of stars on the sea

I think only of her who longs for me

Sail on, ship, 'neath the evening star

My heart's with you, no matter how far!

Though I travel beyond the setting sun

I belong to you till my course is run./i

I hastily handed the book back to Sam to avoid marring the ink with tears. "When did you find this? Did you know Frodo was planning to do something like this?"

Sam shook his head. "Hadn't a clue, Lily. I knew he wanted to do something special for you, but I didn't know what it was going to be. I hope you didn't mind me taking the liberty of reading it?" His broad brow furrowed in worry.

I smiled, wiping off my face with my sleeve. I never seem to have a handkerchief handy. "No, Frodo himself meant it for all who would read his book. I would never make it a private matter. I miss him so—but—I'm a little glad. A little glad to be living on in this book of his."

Sam grinned at me. "It's lovely verse, if I may say so myself. And I'll make sure it goes down in every copy I make of this book! A fit remembrance for a lovely lady."

Lovely lady I am not, and never think of myself as such, but Sam's compliments always made me smile, and I thanked him. We had a nice cup of tea together, and he was soon on his way back to Bag End.


	9. Epilogue

So many years have passed since that one year which changed my whole life! I am over a hundred years old now. I have watched summer give way to winter many times, and I have felt myself grow old. The aching in my bones makes it hard to get around as much as I used to. I've got an apprentice now, and I mostly just mix the medicines. Ruby will make a very nice midwife when I'm gone, and that's a fact, but it's a pity I couldn't teach her more talent with the healing herbs.

People try to tell me I've kept my age well, but I know better then to believe them. I've looked in the Pool at Bywater many a time and seen my dark curls turn to silver. Sometimes, I'm a silly old hobbit--I worry that Frodo won't recognize me anymore, now I'm so wrinkled and my hair's all gray. But I really do know better. I know that inside, I'm the same Lily Goldworthy of that beautiful summer we shared. Only the outside has changed, and I'll leave that behind in the end. Frodo will know me when I go to meet him.

I'm not afraid to die. I know that the hobbits whisper about how strange I am for that, but it doesn't matter. I never have been afraid since that September day when Frodo told me we'd be together. Like his road, mine is drawing to an end. I can nearly see the lights of the inn where I'll rest at the close of my day. Frodo will be waiting there for me, I know it. Surely the Powers will grant us that kindness. I've dreamed of it many a time, and some night soon, the dream will become real. 


End file.
